


The Cherry On Top

by red_crate



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Bakery, Fluff, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Spark Stiles Stilinski, food magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-13
Updated: 2018-03-13
Packaged: 2019-03-30 21:28:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13960374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/red_crate/pseuds/red_crate
Summary: “I got an order for a wedding.” There is a tinge of excitement in his voice and the smell of uncertainty layered to his scent. “They want cheer enchanted cupcakes and a shimmering cake.” He presses his face against Peter’s neck. “Three hundred guests.”“That’s a lot. Must be someone popular.” Peter hums as he cards his fingers up the back of Stiles’s hair.





	The Cherry On Top

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lavenderlotion](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lavenderlotion/gifts).



> I hope you enjoy this, Brandi! <3

Sparked Goods started by accident. Stiles had been messing around with the bits of magic he’d gleaned from Deaton. Most of his spells were cobbled together with a whole lot of trial and error and some good ole fashioned luck. He’d explained it was like cooking—without his mom’s recipes. Stiles had to follow his intuition. 

Peter is immensely proud of what Stiles has learned to do and where he’s taken his little venture over the past few years. 

Stiles is sitting on the kitchen counter, staring at his tablet when Peter finds him that evening. 

“Hello, darling.” He steps between Stiles’s knees and snags the device from his mate’s fingers. “What are you studying so intently?” He doesn’t bother looking at the screen, just sets it aside to look at Stiles. 

Stiles smells strongly of ozone—a good indicator that he’s been hard at work most of the day. When Peter presses his lips to Stiles’s temple, the smell stings his nose even as the familiar scent brings Peter’s wolf expected contentedness. THe exhaustion is less pleasing, but it’s a natural result of Stiles using his magic. Peter ruefully thinks of the time when Stiles had been magicking himself awake and lucid for an entire week strait in order to cram for finals his junior year of college. It had been mortally dangerous, and Peter had been none the wiser the whole time. 

These days, Peter still looks for the hollow ache of weariness lingering on Stiles. One more way to know his mate is taking care of himself in a healthy, measured way. 

Stiles drapes his arms over Peter’s shoulders and tightens his knees around Peter’s hips. “I got an order for a wedding.” There is a tinge of excitement in his voice and the smell of uncertainty layered to his scent. “They want cheer enchanted cupcakes and a shimmering cake.” He presses his face against Peter’s neck. “Three hundred guests.”

“That’s a lot. Must be someone popular.” Peter hums as he cards his fingers up the back of Stiles’s hair. 

Flour has taken up what seems like permanent residence on Stiles’s person. And somehow it manages to transfer to Peter. Stiles likes to point out that if Peter shouldn’t complain about it unless he’s willing to stop touching him as frequently, especially after Stiles has been baking. 

Peter will never stop wanting to be near and touch Stiles. 

“And rich. Very rich.” Stiles tacks on to Peter’s words. “I don’t know if I can handle an order that big.” Stiles pulls back with a wrinkle between his brow. 

Peter sets the tablet, still open to Sparked Good’s email inbox, aside and takes Stiles’s face into his hands. “You can do this. We’ll get you some help. I’ll hire you some help.” Peter smiles, unable and unwilling to keep the fondness off his face. 

Stiles rolls his eyes. “There you go again with the sugar daddy stuff.” But he’s grinning a little as well, revisiting a running joke they’ve had for years. “Always trying to make my life easier.” 

“Only because your happiness makes me happy.” Peter skips the cheeseball tone and speaks soberly. The way Stiles expression easily morphs from amusement to adoration makes Peter’s wolf preen. Peter spoke the truth, and Stiles knows it. “We’re in this together.”

Stiles is clearly tired after a day spent baking and casting. There are racks of cookies cooling on the kitchen island, and Peter can smell the confidence infused into the chocolate chunks. Stiles had stayed up late last night baking clarity infused granola bars for his dad and the station. The exhaustion rolling off Stiles makes Peter want to gather him up and carry him to bed. Not yet, however. 

“Thanks.” Stiles leans in for a kiss, but Peter holds him off gently. 

“I love you, Stiles. I believe in you, and I will give you anything and everything I can.”

A confused look crosses Stiles’s face. “Okay.” He draws the word out even as his cheeks flush and his heart kicks up just a little faster. “I know that.” 

Pulling Stiles’s hands from where they still rest over his shoulders, Peter kisses the inside of Stiles’s wrists. Sugar and flour stick to his lips, and he licks them clean. After stepping back, Peter tugs Stiles until he slides off the counter. 

Stiles’s eyes widen and the faint pink stain on his cheeks deepen as he watches Peter kneel on the tile at their feet. “Oh,” he whispers, unaware that he’s even spoken. 

Peter listens to the quick cadence of Stiles’s heart and takes a deep breath of the excitement exuding from him. 

“I have something to ask you that I’ve wanted to ask you for too long.” Peter can feel the emotion crawling up his throat, eyes stinging even though he’s been planning this for some time. He tightens his hold on Stiles’s fingers once before he lets go of one hand. He pulls a velvet covered box from his pants pocket. 

“Holy shit.” Stiles’s eyes widen. “You’re serious...of course you are. You’ve got the box and you’re on your knee and everything...”

Peter arches an eyebrow and asks fondly, “Are you going to let me finish?” When Stiles audibly closes his mouth, Peter chuckles and kisses the back of Stiles’s hand. 

  
“Mieczyslaw Stilinski—Stiles—will you do me the honor of becoming my husband?”

Nervousness rushes through Peter at the beat of silence that stretches one he’s done with his proposal. 

The fire had taken everything away from him, everything Peter had known and loved. It had singed his ideals and hopes until he became hopeless. Despite the devastation and trauma, Peter has healed and grown. Peter had somehow ended up with something he hadn’t even had before the fire: a mate, the person both Peter and his wolf recognize as their everything. 

And that is Stiles. 

The pause breaks when Stiles drops to his knees to envelop Peter in his arms. The warm earthy and sweet scent of Stiles surrounds Peter. 

“Oh my God, Peter. Yes.” Stiles exclaims before kissing Peter firmly on the mouth. When they part, he says, “I never expected you to ask. I don’t need it, but I want it. I want  _ you _ , Peter.”

His eyes are glowing, Peter is sure of it. It takes him more restraint than he cares to admit not to shift and ravish Stiles right there on the kitchen floor. That will have to wait for now. He opens the box with shaking hands and pulls out the ring. It’s a simple design of white gold and black alloy, with the words  _ my love, my mate _ engraved inside. 

Stiles holds out his left hand. 

When Peter slides the ring on Stiles’s finger, he says, “I love you.”

They both look at the ring. 

Then Stiles cups his hands on either side of Peter’s neck and looks him in the eye. Stiles’s cheeks have tear tracks on them, and Peter can smell the salt. He can also hear the way Stiles’s heartbeat has tapered to its steady, usual rhythm. He can see the happy gleam in Stiles’s eyes. 

“You ordered those cupcakes and wedding cake, didn’t you?” Stiles asks very seriously. He’s able to keep the facade for as long as it takes Peter to say  _ yes _ .

Stiles pulls Peter’s face close and kisses him soundly. When they part again, he says, “I love you. You’re an asshole,” with a grin on his face. 

“Does this mean you’ll be able to take the order?” Peter asks, smirking and already kissing along Stiles’s throat. 

Stiles scoffs, digging his fingers in the short hair on the back of Peter's head. “I'll marry you, but I'm not making my own cake.”

Peter grins, "Deal." 

 

**Author's Note:**

> If you wanna come hang out with me on Tumblr, I'm [here](http://the-redcrate.tumblr.com).


End file.
